Autumn's keen colors
bust out gold-flecked
      and lucent
A fetching masquerade
Til one day the facade drops
      The flaunting stops
And we face our transformation --
The body of real things

The cleansing verity of snow, yes:
We make our cold confessions
      to it --
Our sooth world unadorned;
      No high fashion statements
      No sweet smells from the earth.

Just the white truth of being --